Dear Dairy:

I’m keeping an eye on the lively contest of lesser evils in the race for the Republican nomination. America’s prejudices against the mildly retarded aside, I still think Romney’s vacuous affability will see him through. He seems like the kind of guy who might be night manager at a pancake house, and would make sure you were very happy with your flapjacks, and make sure you had the syrup you wanted, even if they had to open a new can of it from the stockroom because it was a sort of obscure syrup, like Blackberry, because that’s what you want, because it’s delicious. And he’d happily dress-down your server if this wasn’t all done with the kind of customer-is-always-right cheerfulness pancake house customers have every right to expect.

In fact, if Romney found out that the cook wasn’t washing his hands per company policy, I bet he would march him out into the dining area, ask for the people’s attention, and have the cook apologize to each of them in the middle of their meals for not washing his hands after using the toilet, and if it had happened too often, why, he’d accept the fellow’s resignation, give him the Medal of Freedom, and show him the door. That is the standard of accountability that I have set and have no doubt he is capable of meeting.

I think America wants a President they feel could competently perform the duties of Pancake House night manager. Once a fella can do that, the other stuff takes care of itself.

Sometimes, when I’m going through that long dusk of the soul, and I become plagued by self-doubt, I begin to wonder whether I could effectively govern the night shift at a pancake house. But then I snap out of it, tell myself that’s stinkin’-thinkin,’ and that of course I could. With the right training and a few years to learn the ropes, I would absolutely be an adequate night manager at a pancake house. You bet I would!

What is America, really, but one big International House of Pancakes?